


To hear an instant

by HanaSheralHaminail



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, k/s - Freeform, old married spirk, oms, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 08:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaSheralHaminail/pseuds/HanaSheralHaminail
Summary: For this year's OMS Challenge! A collection of soft (mostly) and significant moments as Jim and Spock's relationship progresses through the years... A gift for Plaid, who is awesome."There was something very alien in the empathy this Vulcan was showing him, something he could not fully comprehend, a sense of companionship, of sharing, of implied trust and support that went beyond the line of duty.In Spock’s silence – in his simple presence that was somehow simultaneusly discreet and impossible to ignore – was an offer of friendship.Words were not needed in that instance: they would have been loud and awkward, simple Standard not good enough of a vehicle to bear the weight of so great a revelation. The quiet woven between them shaped bridges where talking might have created walls… It was remarkable, how much could be said without speech.They stood together in silence, watching the stars go by, and it was enough."





	To hear an instant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plaidshirtjimkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/gifts).



> This is my entry for the OMS challenge!  
> I really really love the initiative and the fandom's love for Old Married Spirk; it is genuinely an honour for me to be a part of it!
> 
> This fic is a gift for Plaid, for they are a great person and awesome writer and I'm extra grateful for the support they've given me since the very beginning!

**_To hear an instant_ **

****

_We are anhungered after solitude,_

_Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound,_

* * *

 

It was two months and one week after the beginning of the five-year mission that Jim lost his first crewmember.

Oh, he had seen people die on service when he was an ensign and then Lieutenant, had held a friend’s hand tight in his own as they gasped through their last breath; he had seen the light leave many a stranger’s stricken eyes, disbelief warring with the despair brought by the realisation that it was over, like that, in a moment it was all over.

But he hadn’t been Captain then. This was different, this was culpability and responsibility; it was failure, it was _I should have done more, been more,_ and _how could I let that happen?_ and _They died because of my order._ It tasted too much like Tarsus, and it was heavy, viscous, settling upon his shoulders but sliding its way over his chest and _tightening_ , so he could not breathe.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Leonard said, pressing a hand on his forearm. The touch was meant to soothe and reassure, and in any other occasion Jim would have been glad to receive it and reciprocate, but now he flinched and pulled away: he did not deserve to be comforted, and especially not by Bones. Bones who was always saving lives, Bones who was a healer to his very core, Bones who had never given up on a patient…

Kirk gazed down at his half-emptied glass, at his own troubled eyes staring back at him from the golden liquid. “I’m the Captain,” he replied bitterly, drawing his chair back so he could stand.

“That doesn’t mean you’re above human error,” the doctor reminded him, tone firm but expression soft, perhaps even pitying. He patted his shoulder, heedless of his attempts at fleeing the contact. “Don’t you forget that.”

“But I must be, Bones. I must be. My crew…” He shrugged somewhat helplessly, wanting nothing but to be left alone to deal with the ugly memories cluttering his mind.

“Stop blaming yourself for something that was entirely out of your control, and that’s final.” McCoy gave him a light push in the direction of the door. “Now get some sleep.”

As if he could possibly sleep after what had happened. Nonetheless, he thanked his good friend and nodded obediently to appease him. Anything to desert Sickbay.

He did not return to quarters, he couldn’t, not with all the useless energy still bubbling inside him, desperately calling for an outlet he was unable to provide; instead, he walked aimlessly across the corridors of his beloved _Enterprise_ , feeling more and more estranged with every proud and trusting salute he received. How could his people praise him when he had failed so utterly at protecting them?

One crewmember had _died_ because of his incompetency.

Jim’s bandaged hand was shaking slightly as he dialled the code that enabled him to enter Observation Deck Three, the smallest and most secluded. He slipped inside, let the doors close behind him and pressed himself against the ceiling-to-floor window, looking out into the void. For once, he was blind to the magnificent spectacle flowing steadily on the other side of the transparent aluminium shielding the sailing ship.

The silence was stifling.

Kirk had no idea how long he stood immobile, staring pointlessly at his own mistakes. It was only the soft _whoosh_ of the doors opening and the sound of well-cadenced steps that snapped him out of his morose musings: he turned to see Spock striding slowly into the room, arms folded neatly behind his straight back, his angular face the picture of coolness. Clearly, he had not been to Sickbay, because a deep gash still marred his left cheek. That, too, was Jim’s fault.

The Vulcan moved to his side, and offered him a Padd. “I have completed today’s report, sir. It requires your signature.”

“Alright,” the human huffed, scribbling his name on the official document without bothering to read it, “Thanks, Spock. Go get some rest.”

He had clearly meant it as a dismissal, but his Science Officer did not leave, did not look at him, did not even acknowledge the drying blood splattered over his neck, though it was sure to be uncomfortable. He simply gazed at the stars with his usual imperturbable demeanour, and for a moment Jim stared at him, wondering what the hell could possibly be the logic in that -he must have something, anything, better to do than hang around the Observation Deck. The hybrid very rarely did purposeless things.

“Captain,” Spock murmured. The word fell flat against Kirk’s mingled anger and sorrow, and he let out a hiss, stepping away as if to distance himself from the title.

“Don’t call me that,” he almost pled, “Not now.”

“Very well.” The Vulcan’s expression was unfathomable. “Jim. You are not at fault. What happened was unpredictable, and you followed the best course of action.”

Surprised Spock would willingly bring up the subject, Jim grimaced, and could not control his reaction: “Then my best wasn’t enough. I should have done more.”

The scientist shook his head once, and sought out his gaze, shocking him again with the hints of emotion he allowed to play into his eyes. It was gentle. “Jim, there was no _more_ to be done.”

There was no way Kirk could refute that statement, now, was there? Somehow he wanted to; he wanted to scream and rage at that stony countenance, shatter it just to prove to himself that he could, because _how_ was he supposed to simply accept defeat in the face of death, _how_ was he supposed to… Spock nodded at him as if he’d said all that aloud: “I understand.”

Jim felt the fight drain out of him, then, and unconsciously stepped closer to the Vulcan, looking curiously up at him, at the genuine kindness he radiated and the trace of awkwardness he couldn’t quite hide. “Do you?” he questioned.

“Yes.” Again, he left him no time to object, and went on steadily, voice even and hypnotic, bearing the mark of his native language: “I believe you need not blame yourself.”

Kirk shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about this.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the half-blood, amazed by the realisation that he was, in his own unobtrusive way, trying to provide a semblance of comfort to him. “But thanks.”

“I did not think you would,” Spock admitted, unfolding his arms to tug down the hem of his shirt in an oddly human fashion. “And thanks are illogical.”

At that, Jim felt the corners of his mouth pull up in a smile, for he knew he was not being scolded, quite the contrary, in fact. “Of course, Mister Spock,” he agreed.

“Nonetheless, Jim, you are welcome.”

Well, that was definitely unexpected. Kirk blinked stupidly for a second or so, confused and maybe a little touched. There was something very alien in the empathy this Vulcan was showing him, something he could not fully comprehend, a sense of companionship, of _sharing_ , of implied trust and support that went beyond the line of duty.

In Spock’s silence – in his simple presence that was somehow simultaneusly discreet and impossible to ignore – was an offer of friendship.  

Words were not needed in that instance: they would have been loud and awkward, simple Standard not good enough of a vehicle to bear the weight of so great a revelation. The quiet woven between them shaped bridges where talking might have created walls… It was remarkable, how much could be said without speech.

They stood together in silence, watching the stars go by, and it was enough.

* * *

  _Soft quiet hovering over pools profound,_

* * *

“Let me go! Spock, let me…” A broken cough cut Kirk’s desperate order short, but he did not stop his useless fight against his First Officer’s superior strength; his breaths came out ragged and hissing as his vision blurred -he was toeing the line between life and death, he knew, and yet he still demanded he be allowed into the struggle, allowed to find a solution to the mayhem that was unfolding before his unfocused eyes. “Let… go!”

“No, sir,” Spock inflexibly replied, running fast into the forest in an attempt at losing their pursuers. Poisoned arrows flew above his head and he ducked, holding on to his wounded Captain even as he tripped into the tangled foliage. They slid down a slope, and their fall was halted only when the Vulcan hit his back hard against a tree; a shower of purple needles covered them.

Shouts could be heard from somewhere very near, and since Jim’s blood had left a burning trail on the undergrowth, the Commander jumped back up to his feet and gathered him in his arms again, careful not to jostle him too much even then. This time, the deadly dart shot with frightening precision missed him only by an inch or so.

“Come on, Spock,” Kirk repeated, voice thin as he did his best to mask the pain seeping through his control, “You have to…”

“Captain, I would advise you stay silent and save your energy,” Spock said, not without a certain urgency. Their forced escape was taking them far and farther still from the rendezvous site they’d fixed with the Enterprise, and the chances of being forever stranded on a hostile planet were high.

Not that Jim had forever, of course. He blanked out for a while, waves of agony cresting into his consciousness and submitting it, and when he finally -and with great difficulty- regained his bearings, he found he was lying on a soft bed of leaves, staring up at the low ceiling of some kind of cave. He was alone. _Good_.

A delicate rustle on his left made him startle, and he wondered if he was about to meet his fate -though his brain was too muddled for him to feel anything but a vague sense of surprise. He closed his eyes… and promptly snapped them open again as a delicate, cool touch brushed his forehead, bringing a shred of clarity into his mind. The pain receded.

“Spock…?” His lips formed the name, or at least he thought they did, and fortunately his intent must have been recognisable, for an answer was whispered soon enough: “Here, Captain.”

The Vulcan had removed his blood-stained outer shirt and was shredding it to ridiculously even stripes which he obviously planned to use as bandages. “Damn you, Spock,” Kirk breathed, barely audible in the distant sounds of bubbling water and shrieking birds. “I told you… to leave.”

“You did, sir,” his First Officer confirmed, moving closer so he could slide a hand behind the human’s back. He lifted him up gingerly, and meticulously began the slow process of wrapping the jagged wound crossing his torso in the sturdy fabric. Jim tried to read his expression, to no avail: there was nothing but cold composure written in those alien features, even if his delicate motions betrayed his gentle care.

_How strange_.

“The _Enterprise_ … needs you.” His head was swimming, his dizziness a tangible thing that nibbled around his mind, stealing thoughts and sensations alike, and yet he somehow mastered enough will to finish the sentence: “We cannot die, not both of us.”

Spock’s face entered his line of vision, eyebrow arched and mouth set into a stubborn line. “You will not die, Captain,” he stated, as if he had the power to decide such a thing, “I shall ensure your safety.” Long fingers pressed against the human’s cheek, his chin, his temple, clearly searching for psi-points. “Rest, now.”

Jim fought the drowsiness with all that he was. “Go back to… ship…” he mumbled, jumbled words and heaving chest and blood wetting his mouth, “That’s a… an order.” He had but an instant to appreciate the naked worry in the Vulcan’s eyes before he was lost to the world.

He awoke to the dimmed lights of Sickbay and the echo of an indefinite number of Hypo stings in his neck. His throat felt raw and achy, but the stabbing pain in his abdomen was gone, along -or so it seemed- with most of the feeling in his legs and torso.

“Jim. You are awake.”

Kirk blinked as he watched the Vulcan rise stiffly from a nearby chair so he could approach his bed. From the cautious way he moved, it was evident his back was aching.

“Are you experiencing any discomfort?” his Second in Command asked, “Do you wish me to call the doctor?”

The Captain shook his head. “You deliberately disobeyed my orders,” he said flatly, looking up at him with dispassionate eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Spock murmured, evidently unashamed, “I am ready to face any disciplinary action you deem fit.”

“Forget that. I want to know _why_ ,” the human hissed, “You could have been killed. And if they’d captured you, that would have broken the Prime Directive.”

“I am aware.”

Silence filled the room as the Vulcan offered no explanation but that hidden in his earnest gaze, and after scant minutes Jim huffed, impatient. “Spock, you risked your life -your _life_ , dammit- on the off chance the Enterprise would… what? Find us before I kicked the bucket? Miraculously locate us before the natives did?” He wasn’t sure where his sudden anger was coming from, but the thought that his friend could be so foolish as to give up his own future for a moribund was incensing.

“Indeed,” was all the half-blood said. He was still standing on attention beside him, still staring into his face, still maintaining a silence that Kirk felt was filled with secrets… If he only knew how to read it, how to find the words it so seamlessly concealed.

Frustrated, the Captain propped himself up on his elbows and pushed against his pillow until he reached a seated position. Spock moved as if to help him, but seemed to decide against it and returned to folding his arms behind his back. “You do realise it was _illogical_ , don’t you?”

“It was _not_ ,” the Vulcan protested at once.

“No? How so?”

Again, his only answer was silence. This time, Jim waited it out, because there was no refusal in Spock’s reticence, just a wordless request for more time, for understanding. He could give his dearest friend that.

“You are alive,” he finally said, brief and simple.

Kirk’s brows knitted in concern, but he still managed the soft, affectionate smile such a confession deserved. He reached out and lightly brushed a hand over the other’s shoulder, docking it there when no objection came forth. “Oh, Spock,” he sighed helplessly. “But what if _you_ had died?”

“It was a calculated risk.” Spock looked so convinced that the human did not find it in himself to fight the statement, thus he just nodded, smiling again before he brought his free hand up to cover a yawn. “Doctor McCoy recommended you take at least another hour of sleep,” the Vulcan informed him good-naturedly.

“Mmm.” Jim slid down the bedding so he was once again lying supine, and his tired gaze followed the scientist as he retreated to his chair. “You should rest, too.”

“Is that an order, sir?” his First Officer quipped, raising an eyebrow at him.

“More of a suggestion, really…”

As expected, the Vulcan did not budge, and the Captain fell asleep knowing Spock was keeping a silent vigil nearby.

* * *

_The silences that on the desert brood,_

* * *

 

“Come on, Spock. Let’s go mind the store.”

It was with a spring in his step that the Captain of the Enterprise led his First Officer out of Sickbay, across the corridor and into the nearest turbolift; he had never felt such giddy relief in his whole life: the Pon Farr was over, no one had died, and no one had to marry -an absolute win-win- _win_. Yet, as he walked, he grew more and more aware that the Vulcan’s silence was laden with tension and discomfort, for in the past two years of the mission he had learned how to read him, how to know when his control was about to break or when he was overwhelmed… Right now he was on the verge of a crisis.

Kirk stopped the turbolift and turned to smile brightly at his friend, hoping to somehow convince him everything was fine. The half-blood’s head was bowed, and he was refusing to meet his eyes. “Hey, Spock. Spock. Look at me. Hey.”

He waited patiently for the scientist to lift a fearful gaze upon him, then stepped forward, placing both hands on his shoulders; since Spock stiffened, he let him go, though he did not move away. “Spock. It’s alright. Please. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

The Vulcan swallowed hard, and retreated across the small space, backing himself into a corner. “It was. I was foolish. I should have known better than to ask you to the ceremony.” His voice was shaking just so, enough that Jim noticed, and he felt his heart constrict at the sight of such misery.

“No, Spock, that’s not true,” he said firmly and with great conviction, eyes never leaving the ashen face of his dear, dear friend. “No one could have predicted T’Pring’s decision.” He reached out again, slower this time, fingers hovering in the air for a long moment before he touched the other’s arm. “I chose to accept the challenge. I couldn’t let you die, my friend.”

Spock flinched as if the word had caused him physical harm. “I hurt you,” he whispered, curling in on himself against the turbolift wall. “I dare not ask for your forgiveness.”

Jim tightened his grip on his companion, desperate to close the distance between them but suppressing the urge for his sake. “You don’t have to. There’s nothing to forgive.”

The eyes that met the human’s were wretched, darkened by churning guilt and self-loathing, and he wasn’t hiding anymore, he had no more shields left in place, only raging emotions that were destructive in their unrestrained power. Sympathy welled up within Kirk’s chest, and he softened his tone until it was but a lulling murmur, warm and soothing and honey-sweet: “Please, Spock. I’m alive and well… And you are, too. Let’s be happy about that.”

“Jim, I…” But the Vulcan could not speak, trapped in a silence that was suffocating him -even as he attempted to control himself, to reign his feelings in, they escaped him, wanting out, out, out… Still he pushed them down. “I…”

For a few minutes, the Captain watched his tortured struggle. His First Officer was the kindest person he knew, it wasn’t fair that he should be in so much pain. It wasn’t _right_. The human spread his arms, then, offering the most immediate comfort he could think of: an embrace. “Come here,” he invited, standing motionless and inoffensive, as he would were he faced with a wild animal, “It’s alright.”

“I am…” A choked gasp escaped the half-blood’s parted lips, and again he swallowed -the action tense and trying as slight shivers shook his frame. “I am so sorry, Jim.” Cold lights reflected the sheen that was gathering into those wide, beseeching eyes, and it was all the human could do not to reach out to dry them. “I am so very sorry…”

“Don’t be. Don’t be, please. It’s alright. I’m alright. See?” He smiled again, keeping himself open and taking care to project nothing but delicate serenity. “See? Come here.”

Perhaps it was the vestiges of the Pon Farr, perhaps it was the after-effect of having nearly killed his Captain, or perhaps some combination of the two… Kirk wasn’t sure; he knew only that he could pinpoint the moment when Spock’s precarious composure shattered completely, knew he would always remember the broken expression that crossed his face.

He seemed to fall, graceful and silent still, folding forward as he grasped his chest, crushed by the combined weight of the emotional and physical strain he had undergone in the course of the previous week. The human caught him before he could slide all the way to the floor, and brought him up and closer, cradling his head into his own shoulder.

Then the silence morphed into the soft sound of delicate sobs, and Jim could feel the Vulcan’s spine tremble beneath his palms, and held him as gently as possible while he clutched at his golden shirt. Kirk was in awe at the trust he had been given, at the depth of feeling this precious, unique creature was showing him, at the amount of care and affection it revealed. It was something he would forever cherish.

Jim stayed quiet, listening to Spock’s hastily drawn breaths and shivering as his cold tears wetted his skin through the fabric of his uniform. Oh, but didn’t he _love_ his dearest friend. He loved everything about him, and he loved him especially in that moment, that moment when he was at his most vulnerable and unprotected, that moment when all that mattered was the frantic quality of his embrace, and the tenderness Kirk was conveying.

Never had they been so close.

And the silence wasn’t smothering anymore… it was gentle, and alight with tentative hope and joy and reassurance, and flowing with the words they shared. “We’re alright… We’re alright.”

* * *

 

_Above a windless hush of empty seas,_

_The broad unfurling banners of the dawn,_

_A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun;_

* * *

The night was quiet and dull; charcoal clouds hovered above San Francisco’s bay, giving the view from Jim’s wide windows a gloomy tone. His apartment was lonely and shrouded in silence and almost completely dark -the only source of light coming from the Padd the human was writing on. The Admiral was struggling to describe the ending of his latest otherworldly experience – V’ger’s quest for _more_ , the birth of a new form of life, Decker’s choice, that absurd run against time, all the lost knowledge stored within the realm of the probe-turned-sentient…

It was simply too much to grasp. He wondered what the brass would make of this jumbled report which was definitely not among his best: the words came out stilted and there was no flow to his sentences, a rare occurrence that was leaving him frustrated at himself and his inability to focus, because his thoughts were constantly being interrupted by…

The soft sound of the tiniest knock on his doors nearly had him jumping out his skin, and Kirk stomped towards the entrance rather crossly, barking a rough “What?” into the intercom without bothering to check the identity of the person waiting outside. The silence that followed carried on enough that he decided to return to his Padd, but just as he was about to turn, a hesitant voice came forth: “My apologies, I did not mean to disturb you. I… I shall leave, now.”

Jim dialled the door open so fast the computer probably had trouble keeping up with him, and found himself face to face with a startled, dishevelled Vulcan. “Spock!”

His hair was flattened to one side and sticking up on end to the other, as if he had been leaning against a hard surface for too long, and he was shivering with cold or fatigue -the human couldn’t really tell. He was wearing that gorgeous black robe again, but it was creased and messy.  “How long have you been waiting outside?”

Spock sounded tired and disheartened as he replied in a quiet murmur: “Four point thirteen hours.”

“Four _hours_?” Kirk hissed, grabbing the Vulcan by the arm to pull him inside the warmth of his apartment. “And only _now_ you’re asking to be let in?” The doors closed automatically behind the stiff frame, but Jim chose to ignore his friend’s apparent discomfort and guided him into the living room. He motioned for him to sit at the table, satisfied that he did so without question, then went to replicate some food and hot tea.

After having raised the temperature by a few degrees, he set the bowl of vegetarian soup and the steaming mug in front of the Vulcan, then sat across from him. “Spock, what are you doing here?” he asked, watching him pointedly until he started eating.

“I wished to speak to you…” Spock began, and the human heard the shuffling of his feet against the linoleum floor when he shifted awkwardly in his chair once more. _He’s so out of sorts._

Shaking his head, Kirk was quick to correct him: “No, I mean here on _Earth_ ,” he explained, unable to keep himself from frowning: “I thought you were going back to Vulcan…” It was why he had left the _Enterprise_ as soon as she had docked -why he hadn’t even thought about asking his former First Officer to accompany him to the Academy and then home. He wasn’t sure he could withstand another goodbye. 

Spock’s eyes were wide and earnest, and he had abandoned the soup in favour of twisting his fingers above the table. “No,” he said, and it was music to Jim’s ears, “I shall not be returning.” He seemed to relax in response to the human’s slightly mollified demeanour.

Kirk tapped the edge of the nearly untouched bowl. “Alright. Food first, talk second.”

The Vulcan obeyed silently, and Jim inwardly flinched, hating that he was being so compliant, so subdued. It wasn’t supposed to be like that -Spock was supposed to make a snarky remark at that point, placidly reminding his superior officer he did not need as much sustenance as a human, and maybe adding a fond ‘Illogical, Captain’ for good measure. He was supposed to feel (or at the very least look) at ease around him, not like a stray animal waiting to be kicked out into the streets again.

“What an unflattering comparison,” the half-blood absent-mindedly protested, cleaning the bowl with great care, “Though I regret to admit _it is_ somewhat fitting.”

Jim grimaced again. “Are you reading my mind?” he demanded, unsure whether the realisation disturbed him or not.

The telepath cringed as if he had been harshly rebuked, a blush of green dusting his cheeks and guilt pouring off him in waves. “Forgive me. You are projecting rather loudly, and my shields were greatly damaged by V’ger. Please, rest assured I have no intention of invading your privacy.” His tone took on an alarmingly imploring quality, “I shall try to… be more careful.”

Such a seemingly disproportionate reaction caught Kirk off guard: “I… uh, you don’t… Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, “I don’t really have a problem with it. Will you be okay, though?”

Spock nodded once, relief and gratitude playing about his face. Jim smiled tentatively at him, even if it was forced and stilted and sombre. Silence trickled between them, and suddenly it was as if they were strangers again, as if those three years of separation had erased all the words they used to share, as if the space dividing them had opened chasms where once there were bridges…

They were so distant.

Oh, how Kirk _hated_ that. But he was powerless to mend the wounds torn in their friendship, in the trust he had once held for this Vulcan who had believed that purging his emotions (his affection, his loyalty, _Jim’s entire world_ ) was the logical thing to do, the right thing to do. And now the Admiral waited for him to explain, to tell him about _this simple feeling_ he had mentioned earlier and what it meant for him, for them.

“Jim.” The whisper of his name broke the silence, and did so seamlessly, with a rare kind of beauty; it was a vow and a prayer together, and it melted away all of the walls the human had built to protect himself from rejection and misplaced trust. Spock took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was calm and level, bearing a softness that was seldom heard: “Leaving as I did was a grave mistake.” There was no hesitation in his confession, no doubt: just pure, plain honesty. “Though at the time it seemed to me the only viable option. It was, perhaps, necessary… but I deeply regret causing you pain.”

Kirk shook his head dismissively, not caring to discuss the absolute misery of the past years, how lost he had felt, without the Enterprise, without his crew, without his closest friends, and without Spock to lean on for reassurance. He had gotten so used to his silent, steadying presence that being suddenly deprived of it had left him reeling, off-balance; never had he allowed himself to become so _dependent_ on another… “You were hurting. I get that, I understand.”

He sighed, then stood up restlessly, walking around the table twice before moving over to the couch -his back was starting to ache, and his twenty-three hours of vigil were weighing on him.

After a heartbeat, Spock too rose to follow him, and sat by his side, eyes searching.

“Why?” Kirk asked finally, “Why was Gol the only option?”

The Vulcan’s gaze turned sad, but he held his ground, not fleeing from the discussion as he would have before… before what? What had changed? “I believed that by achieving the Kolinhar I would also have peace. That I would solve the problem of my warring halves simply by removing one of them.”

Jim had to swallow down the urge to wrap both arms around Spock’s thin frame and hold him so _tightly_ his two conflicting sides would _merge_. For all that he felt angry and betrayed, he couldn’t help wanting to keep this amazing being from harm -plus, the half-blood looked absolutely lovely, huddled into his velvet robes, long sleeves pulled down so that the hem very nearly reached his fingertips, back straight despite his weariness, black lashes casting long shadows on his sharp cheekbones. Lovely and so incredibly unaware.

“In truth,” the Vulcan went on, a tinge of bitterness tainting his soft voice, “I was merely running from myself.”

The human leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and studied his friend’s face, curious and eager and hopeful. _Perhaps you’ll stay, after all_. “Why?” he pressed.

“I was afraid.” Spock moved a little, and -be it on purpose or an accident- his hands were suddenly inches from the other’s.

“Afraid of _what_?”

“Afraid of you.” That rendered Kirk speechless. In the back of his mind, the Vulcan’s emotions were playing, distant and carefully contained; he focused inwards like he had in those rare occasions in which they had melded on the line of duty, and to his great surprise his friend welcomed him forth, surrounding him in warmth. _Afraid of the way I am when I’m with you. Afraid it was but an illusion, soon to be vanished. Afraid your light would blind me and leave me forever in darkness._

Spock retreated from their connection, then, and Jim found himself gaping at him, marvelling at the blazing force in those brown eyes, at the hard, determined set of his jaw. “I love you,” the Vulcan said plainly, and that was when the human stopped caring about being hurt, and let his hands reach across the space that had seemed unsurmountable before and _touch_ , just touch, delighting in the way the half-blood melted into his arms and under his palms, seeking him, the tension easing away piece by piece. He curled sideways and leaned his forehead against Kirk’s shoulder. “I always have. You are _t’hy’la_ …”

Jim knew the meaning of the ancient word: Spock had explained it to him, a lifetime ago, and maybe he should have guessed then, he should have understood _why_ as the Vulcan had shared the myth of the warrior bond across a chessboard. In retrospect, it had been obvious, and yet… “The link…”

“Is a consequence of this.” The half-blood sighed delicately into his neck as the human cuddled him closer, pleased to note his shivering had subsided. “I wished you to be free, hence I left for Gol.”

“You should have come to me with the truth,” Kirk scolded gently, feeling all of his bitterness evaporate in the wake of such profound joy as that filling his chest; his smile was bright as day, and Spock looked as if he was basking in it.

“I know this, now.” Again, burning gratitude painted the Vulcan’s face with softness and awe. Jim searched for his hand and pressed their index and middle fingers together, and there was no doubt that what he was offering was more than a simple _ozh’esta_.

“If you had, I would have told you I would never want to be rid of you,” he murmured into one pointed ear, chuckling as he watched it turn green.

_Could it be that I am your choice, also?_

Spock’s mental voice was back, and Kirk cherished it wholeheartedly, entranced with the way it sounded and how it lingered, coiling in misty waves, like smoke or vapour.

“You always were.”

_I have nothing to offer…_

Jim was tracing his fingers over the Vulcan’s lips, and as he pressed gentle kisses into his mussed hair and against his temple, he whispered, with infinite kindness: “That’s because you already gave me everything.”

“ _Jim_ …” How could Spock put so much meaning, so much depth of feeling into his name alone was a mystery to Kirk, one he resolved to crack in the years they were sure to spend together, because there _would_ be years.

_To think that I believed myself capable of spending a lifetime without you…_

The thought alone was enough to make the human crush his beloved into his chest, so close in fact that the half-blood was now sitting in his lap, legs folded neatly on one side and arms wrapped loosely around his neck. They kissed, fleetingly. “I missed you so damn much.” Another kiss followed, and another.

_And I, you_.

Then they had no more need of words. It was silence.

* * *

_Our souls are fain of solitudes like these._

* * *

 

Jim pushed the glasses up his nose in a sharp gesture of annoyance, then returned his attention to the book he was lazily leafing through. _A tale of two cities_. He sighed gloomily, feeling murderous and snappy for no reason at all… He had a half idea of jumping away from his armchair and just going out, but he’d promised his husband he’d wait for him to arrive so they could dine together and celebrate his damn birthday.

_Who cares about birthdays anyway? I thought birthdays were illogical_.

“They are not.” Spock’s gentle voice broke through his mental rumbling, and a cold nose poked into his cheek while long fingers took the novel from his hand. “And you are projecting again, _adun_. Why is it you are so displeased?”

Kirk smiled a little as his Vulcan snuggled up between his body and the puffy armrest; he turned to offer a quick welcome-home kiss before he snuck an arm around bony shoulders to pull him closer. “Hello, beautiful,” he greeted, “You all done with the cadets?”

“Yes, for today,” Spock murmured pleasantly, slipping out of his shoes so he could hide his feet beneath the pillow, then pressed his lips against the human’s chin. He smelled of dying winter and the maple trees planted all over Academy grounds. “T’hy’la, as the good doctor already told you, this is not a funeral. It is a cause for celebration.”

Jim grimaced, turning away so his husband would not see his face. “It’s just a birthday. Don’t see much reason for celebrating, honestly.”

The Vulcan’s fingertips brushed the side of his jaw, tilting his head just enough that they could gaze into each other’s eyes. It was undoubtedly comforting, the warmth he saw there, along with the constant undercurrent of affection and concern that was being pushed his way through the bond. “Jim… the day of your birth is an occasion I would celebrate always.”

A chuckle escaped him, and he began to trail kisses over his beloved’s forehead and temples. “Silly Vulcan,” he murmured fondly, and for a while they were silent. Jim slid his hand under the many layers his _adun_ wore and placed it above his side, enjoying the alien but extremely familiar vibration of his faster than a human’s heart; he felt Spock loosen up into his loving caresses, and listened to his even purring, loving the sound of it especially because it meant his prim and proper companion was turning to putty beneath his touch.

He startled out of his sleepy state when he found the Vulcan’s eyes open and fixed on his face, tender but full of queries. Kirk sighed, knowing there was no escaping the conversation, and he figured he might as well get it over with sooner rather than later. “Spock, do I look old to you?” A blush crept upon his cheeks at the suddenness of his question: he had not intended to be so direct, and part of him expected his husband to blank out in front of such illogic.

Spock, however, merely raised his head from its nest into his neck and said, quite simply: “No, Jim. You look to me as you always have: beautiful, and bright.” Then he cupped his face in both hands -not without difficulty, given the way they were crammed together- and offered him a delicate smile. “I am grateful for the time we have spent together. And for the time ahead of us.” His index finger slipped up across the bridge of the human’s nose, halting the imminent fall of his new glasses. “I do find these rather fetching.”

At that Jim had to laugh, and some of his earlier irritation was dispelled by the heartfelt kiss he bestowed upon his husband’s lips. “Oh, honey. Whatever would I do without you?”

The Vulcan wasn’t finished, though. He was still gazing intently at him, serious and perhaps even fearful; from his side of the bond, Kirk picked up hints of confusion, sadness, a tentative sense of inadequacy… “You are unhappy, t’hy’la.”

_Is it my fault? What can I do?_

As soon as that thought crossed Spock’s brain, Jim grasped his hands and squeezed them into his own, pulling them to his lips. _How could it ever be your fault, my dearest?_ he whispered softly into his mind, _You are so good to me_. Aloud, he said: “I just… I miss the _Enterprise_. I miss space, and adventure.” He shrugged a little, silently berating himself for having let his wishful thinking trouble his beloved. “This kind of stay-at-home job is driving me up the wall is all.”

His lovely Vulcan was already rushing to find a solution, and that in itself was enough to make the human’s heart flutter and swell in undiluted adoration and pure awe of this gentle being who had chosen to gift him with his devotion. “You should come teach at the Academy.”

“I dunno, Spock, teaching is… not really my thing.”

“You would be a wonderful teacher, _ashayam_ ,” Spock objected, only half-teasing. Thankfully, he let the subject drop, and shifted so he was more securely cradled into his husband’s arms. After nearly a minute of silence, he spoke again: “Once the _Enterprise_ ’s shakedown cruise ends, so will my commitment to her cadets. Perhaps we could travel, then.”

Jim blinked, surprised, then a huge smile blossomed across his face. “Yeah. I’d like that. I’d like that very much, in fact.” His happiness and affection nearly overwhelmed him, and he let them fill their bond to the brim, bright and warm and _home_. “I love you, you know.”

The Vulcan’s reply was immediate: “I cherish you, Jim.” Then he added, as if the two things were somehow related: “I have also acquired a cake.”

“A cake? Really? That wasn’t necessary at all.”

“It is a _chocolate_ cake,” Spock lazily specified.

Mischief lit up Kirk’s eyes: “Oh? And I don’t suppose you wanna share?”

“Since it is, after all, your birthday, I believe I shall indulge. Just this once.”

* * *

 

_O woman who divined our weariness,_

_And set the crown of silence on your art,_

* * *

 The silence was thick and pitch black, and Jim was deaf to anything that wasn’t the frightening absence of sounds in the emptiness of his apartment. He sat in front of an empty table, staring down at the empty couples of plates and glasses he had set for no one, eyes wide and unblinking even as they slowly filled with tears; he would let them fall -he did not care enough to contain them, nor did he have the strength to fight back the pain that nourished them.

His house had become ghostly -he had taken off every picture, every insignificant memento that could revive memories of what had been merely a week before, what would be no more. It seemed so ridiculous now, that he had needed Spock to comfort him because he had felt _old_.

He was so _youn_ g. So unbearably young.

Bleeding inside from a broken bond that would never heal completely, and from the unquestionable knowledge that it was all his fault… He had saved Khan, had he not? He’d thought he was being fair, that it was the right thing to do… _He_ had planted the seed that had ultimately become his downfall. He had caused his beloved to die, because he’d wanted to play the hero, the champion, the upholder of justice…

But justice did not exist; if it had, it would have taken Jim’s life, and not Spock’s -Death should have stayed far and away from such a pure, kind soul, He should have fled in the face of so graceful, so innocent a being.

There was simply no way Kirk would survive such a blow. Khan might have wanted him alive and suffering, but he wasn’t sure he would live through the mind-numbing pain shattering him, from the vestiges of a torn link trying to re-join with its counterpart, no matter that it was impossible. No matter that all it would find was dark, sickening void.

His Vulcan wasn’t coming back, and now the silence was a cage, so full of the words that could not be shared anymore that it smothered Jim in its weight. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t _breathe_ , because there was no one to hear him, no one to share his grief with.

Bones had called many times in the course of the week, but he had yet to answer. He knew he was being selfish, realised even through the blinding haze of his pain that perhaps he could use some human contact -they both could- and still for every time his communicator beeped a surge of anger swept through him. The last time the doctor had sought him, he had thrown the device across the room and into the farthest wall. It might have broken; he did not care.

No one else could see just how precious Spock had been - _was and would be always_.

Those studies that called upon the five stages of grief had never known the possibilities of a Vulcan mating bond. There would be no denial for Jim, not when he had _felt_ , within his mind and his heart, his t’hy’la’s life leave him, the beautiful, comforting light dim until nothing but darkness remained. When the link broke, a part of Kirk had died along with it.

_No, please, let it not be true, take me instead…_

Anger… he had felt it in the beginning, but it was too draining for him to muster; perhaps it would have been healthier than this desolation clawing at his soul and blanketing his life and draining it of its colours. Everything was grey now. He had drawn the curtains to cover the enormous window _they_ -he had never quite understood the magnificence of such a little word, _they_ \- used to spend hours sitting by. He was undeserving of the perfect view of the night sky.

_I need you, don’t leave me, no, I have failed you…_

Leonard claimed he was going through some sort of mix between bargaining and depression (there were a lot more medical terms involved, but that was the gist) and that he needed to recognise that or he would never move on.

But how could he ever move on? How could he learn to adjust to the silence again, after having known the beauty of being one with another, being whole? How could he face the rest of his life alone, without his t’hy’la?

_I am so sorry, please, please forgive me, come back to me._

The clock struck two in the morning. He did not take notice. If he hoped hard enough, perhaps the dying bond would take him along.

* * *

 

_From what undreamed-of depth within your heart_

_Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free_

* * *

 

The pain, the pain, _why_ , there was so much pain, it was blinding, blinding, eating at him, consuming him, and he felt as if his soul itself was deserting him, slowly pooling down into a void that tore it to pieces…  Something was missing, something important and _vital_.

_“I’ve done far worse than kill you, Admiral. I’ve hurt you. And I wish to go on hurting you. I shall leave you, as you left me…”_

Hurt, yes, hurt, Khan had hurt him far worse than he imagined, worse than he would have ever dreamed… He had taken his _love_ from him, and _he_ was _dead_.

Dead, dead, dead, dead.

Where was his light? Where that soft, ever-present buzz of thoughts and emotions that used to rest in the back of his mind and was now lost? What of their beautiful bond?

There was only darkness, because he was _dead_.

_T’hy’la_ , dead, gentle eyes and secret smiles and conflicting natures and kind heart that would be no more…

Kirk screamed himself to full awareness, violently shivering in the wake of his nightmare and clutching desperately at the blankets; trying -and failing- to turn his broken gasps into even breaths, he sat up straighter into the bed… his _empty_ bed. Panic sliced through him as he frantically looked around the room, and all manner of worrisome thoughts entered his brain: where was his husband? Could something have happened to him? What if he was hurt? What if…

_Spock_ …

He was frozen in place, powerless to do anything but cover his face with both hands so he would not see the emptiness, the darkness of his surroundings, so much like his nightmare -his reality of _before_ , barren, void, cruel, endless agony…

And all of a sudden his mind was flooded by an overwhelming rush of warmth; there were no words, just a torrent of love and reassurance, a silence that chased away the ache because it was sweet and full of devotion and so unquestionably _real_ -and for every wave of affection that enveloped him, Kirk’s tattered soul healed, little by little. _No more pain_ , the warmth told him without speaking, _no more pain_.

“Jim!” Spock was by the door, panting because he had apparently run up the two flights of stairs that led from the kitchen to the bedroom just to get to him sooner, “Jim…”

He hurried towards him in a flurry of white robes, and hastily swept him from the bed and into his own arms, wrapping him in his presence. “T’hy’la,” he murmured, into his hair, over and over and over, the soft, delicate lulling of a dearest voice melting into his very bones… “T’hy’la,” he chanted, brushing affectionate kisses all over his face, “I am here…” His scent was everywhere, and it was so _good_ , and Jim finally found he could breathe steadily again, for _he_ was alive….

“All is well,” Spock whispered, cradling him closer, mindful of his strength but nearly desperate in the way he held him, trembling hands and racing heart and quick exhales against his left ear. “All is well, my _ashayam_ , please calm yourself, you need not hurt anymore…”

Jim snaked both arms around him, grasping tightly at the soft fabric covering his husband’s back, fingers digging into his shoulder blades, and buried his face into his neck. “My dearest, dearest, dearest…” The shadows of the past were gradually receding, replaced by the blinding light of proof, by the familiar texture of Vulcan sleeping robes and the welcome weight of a Vulcan chin resting over his shoulder and the entrancing sound of Vulcan words into the room. “My miracle.”

“Jim…”

Kirk pushed at his husband’s chest until he had him falling backwards into the bed, then kissed him deeply, tasting the spicy tea he liked to drink in the mornings and revelling in the scent of him, so precious. “Please,” he gasped, cradling Spock’s head of silken hair in both hands.

“Anything,” was all the half-blood said, and he was already pulling the human closer to himself, pressing up against him to erase the space between them. It was very nearly morning, light was filtering through the shaded windows, and the Captain was due to give a lecture at the Academy in less than three hours, but in that moment, as he held his beloved with hands that promised they’d never let go, he couldn’t have cared less.

The rest of the world would have to wait, for it meant nothing, _nothing_ , compared to the sheer need he had for this one, beautiful being who had given him the greatest gift of all: life. And he _was_ alive, his touch and his voice and his breath and his heartbeat proof enough that even the worst of his nightmares vanished into thin air. Oh, they would return, he was aware it would take much longer before he was once again secure in the truth of his t’hy’la’s presence, but he also knew that he wasn’t alone to face his pain anymore.

For that he was so grateful. So, so grateful.

Afterwards, they lay side by side, entwined, legs tangled together and Jim’s palm resting above the Vulcan’s heart, while Spock’s arms encircled his waist and his relaxed, open expression was all he could see. He stared into those kind, chocolate brown eyes, watching the sun paint iridescent speckles in them and soaking up the love they so effortlessly conveyed. Still maintaining the silence -it was too perfect, too warm to break yet- he raised his free hand to trace the shape of his beloved’s lips with trembling fingers, then his nose and his slanted eyebrows and the laugh lines his gentle smile etched into his soft skin. “My miracle,” he murmured again, reverently.

The Vulcan blushed. He placed the lightest of kisses -delicate as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings and equally fragile- upon his _adun_ ’s lips, sliding closer into the pillow so their foreheads touched. “I would not be alive if it were not for you and the others,” he very quietly said, “What you did for me… that is a miracle.”

Jim beamed at him, letting Spock’s thoughts and emotions seep into his mind and cover it like a blanket. “ _Ashayam_.”

“I apologise, Jim.” The half-blood’s eyes slid closed, and he moved to lay his head in the crook of the human’s neck. “I should have never left you…”

Kirk chose to interpret the statement as one referring to their current predicament, and not the death of his husband. “Where were you?” he asked, absentmindedly petting his hair back to some semblance of order.

“I received a call from my father,” the Vulcan explained, leaning into his touch, “I did not wish to wake you, but perhaps I should have.”

The Captain’s mouth fell open with a _pop_ : “And you left him hanging like that?” he gasped, astonished in the face of his beloved’s nerve, making Ambassador Sarek of all people sit idly in wait. “What if he’s still…”

“I told him I would call him back at a later hour,” Spock carelessly told him, apparently much more interested in Jim’s loving caresses than in his apparent dread of his father. “You are my priority, t’hy’la. Always.”

“Even when I’m such a mess?”

Kirk was teasing, but the Vulcan’s answer was as serious as ever: “ _Especially_ then.”

Silence ensued, and Jim relaxed into it, because it wasn’t empty anymore: there was the gentle sound of purring into the room…

Spock tapped a finger against his ribs. “It would also be beneficial if you were to make breakfast sometime soon,” he prompted, looking hopefully up at him.

“You hungry, honey?”

The scientist seemed affronted by the mere suggestion: “ _Of course_ not. I am Vulcan,” he chided, frowning minutely. “But I thought perhaps you might be.”

The human did not believe him even for a second; he let it slide, though. “ _Riiight_.” He pulled a little on the fine silken strands, then returned to combing through the greying hair. The rhythmical motion was extremely soothing, and Kirk felt his eyelids droop. He was about to fall asleep when his husband gave him a firmer nudge to his side.

“Breakfast.”

* * *

 

_To hear an instant, high above earth's stress,_

_The silent music of infinity?_

* * *

 

The dying fire crackled warmly when Jim rose, breathing in the perfect scent of the cool night as he walked, careful of not making a sound, across the little camp so he could kneel beside his Vulcan. Moonlight shone above them, the crescent barely high enough to be glimpsed behind the tall frames of the treetops. Without a word, he reached out to trace reverent fingers over Spock’s lips, then up towards his cheekbone, until he found his temple and stopped there.

His husband’s eyes fluttered open, and he gazed at him with an endearing mix of sleepiness and confusion, propping himself up on his elbows rather swiftly. “Jim, what…?” he began in a bewildered murmur, but Kirk was quick to press a kiss to his mouth, both reassurance and warning.

“Hush,” he whispered, “Come with me.”

The Vulcan got to his feet swiftly, wrapping a blanket around himself to keep warm, and followed the human without question, well used by now to his very own brand of uniqueness. They threaded quietly into the forest, not straying so far from camp that they wouldn’t be able to find their way back but far enough that they would not disturb McCoy if they spoke.

Jim reached out his hand and brushed it across his t’hy’la’s, smiling wide when Spock caught it firmly in his own. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said, “I missed you.”

“Indeed?” was all the half-blood replied, but Kirk could tell he was flattered, and did not even attempt to contain the chuckle that escaped his pursed lips. His husband’s affronted expression was priceless, and the human sent him a wave of affection to appease him.

“Wouldn’t want to spend the night sleeping when the stars are so beautiful.”

They sat close to one another, almost completely hidden beneath the wool blanked, and for long, peaceful minutes they were silent, staring up at the twinkling sky with twin expressions of wonder painted on their faces. Jim’s fingers trailed up and down the Vulcan’s arm, drawing mindless patterns that from time to time made Spock shiver minutely against him.

The white noise of the woods was deeply comforting, as was each other’s presence, the reassurance that once again they had made it through a crisis and come out the victors; it was good to unwind a little, secure in the knowledge that they had somehow managed to save the day again. Kirk sighed softly and turned sideways to press his lips to his husband’s cheek. It would not do to dwell on thoughts of how long they could keep up their narrow escapes and what it would take for their good fortune to run out.

_We’re safe now, it’s all that matters_.

The corner of Spock’s mouth lifted up then, as if in response to the thought, before the Vulcan lowered his gaze from the stars to his t’hy’la’s love-filled eyes. He took the human’s left hand and began playing with the golden ring he always wore in times of peace. It looked as though he wanted to speak, but was choosing his words with great care.

“Are you happy, _adun_?” he finally asked, tone low and gentle, so delicate in fact that it seemed to blend with the sounds of the night.

There was a strange air of anticipation hanging in the forest: the light wind had stilled, and nothing stirred but the two men breathing quietly next to one another -and even those tiny, tender gestures of theirs were subdued, unhurried, almost secretive in their subtle devotion. When their eyes met, it was as if the universe itself was held in the look they shared -and perhaps it was true: all the landscapes they had gazed upon, all the stars they had travelled by and the planets they had visited and the galaxies they had sailed across… everything was reflected in that timeless moment.

“Yes,” Jim said, and it came out as the softest murmur, though no less forceful for that. “Yes, of course I am. How couldn’t I be?” He caressed his beloved’s hair, pulling him into a warm hug. His fingers danced across his face, tracing lines over his cheek and down his neck, as the human felt the ever-present ripples of love grow to become a flood. “I’ve got you and Bones and the others.” A brief pause, then Kirk placed a finger under his husband’s chin and tilted his head to him. “Are you?”

Spock’s eyelids fluttered closed, then he leaned in for a slow kiss. “More than I would have ever believed possible,” he breathed into the human’s mouth.

Jim squeezed him tight to himself, and did not let go.

Silence fell: complete and all-encompassing, so different and yet so similar to that of the void which had been their home for so long; it was perfect, because _life_ pulsed through it. Their life, and the life of the world around them. Peaceful. Powerful.

Beautiful.

And that was how Bones found them a few hours later, huddled up close against a tree, Spock resting his head on the human’s shoulder and Jim’s cheek pressed into soft black hair. They were asleep.

He grabbed another blanket to lay it over both of them, and for the life of him he couldn’t help the fond, indulgent smile that spread over his face.

“What a pair of saps.”

* * *

 

_**Silence, by Sara Teasdale** _

 

_(To Eleonora Duse)_  
  
_We are anhungered after solitude,_  
_Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound,_  
_Soft quiet hovering over pools profound,_  
_The silences that on the desert brood,_  
_Above a windless hush of empty seas,_  
_The broad unfurling banners of the dawn,_  
_A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun;_  
_Our souls are fain of solitudes like these._  
_O woman who divined our weariness,_  
_And set the crown of silence on your art,_  
_From what undreamed-of depth within your heart_  
_Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free_  
_To hear an instant, high above earth's stress,_  
_The silent music of infinity?_

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have noticed, the title is a quote from the above poem!
> 
> And... I find myself having to apologise again to all of you who follow 100 Words for my tardiness! I have not abandoned the story, and I'm working my way through the next chapter, which will be updated in a week, maybe two? I'm sorry, y'all!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! I love Tos Spirk ^_^ Happy OMS month!
> 
> And many many thanks to all who have read, and left kudos or a comment! You rule!! And quite possibly make my day!


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